


A Hope and a Prayer

by Benedicthiddleston



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Blood Loss, Hallucinations, Hurt!Mac, Mac Whump, Mad!Jack, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mugging, Stabbing, Suspense, Wounds, prompt, tumblr stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21546403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benedicthiddleston/pseuds/Benedicthiddleston
Summary: A mugging gone wrong - so much blood;so much blood.Jack will hunt down the individual who committed this atrocity, even if it takes every last resource the Phoenix Foundation has. He just hopes justice prevails when he can't see anything but red and hear Mac's voice whispering in his ear...
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/gifts).



> Thanks to ImpossiblePluto for putting an earwig in me and this plot just unfolded too perfectly. She also gave me permission to write it even though my brain is buzzing with Burn the Ships... so, blame her ;) <3

Feet pounding on dirt. Sweat soaking into a worn, beloved shirt. Breathing even but labored - expected, enjoyed. Mind categorizing and compartmentalizing the recent mission. Reformulating equations and problems surrounding failures and wins.

Dusk hung in the sky - blue, pink, red, orange, and silky clouds slowly dimming into the evening. Darkness was coming. The colors blending, the stars struggling to peer through intensified light pollution.

Angus MacGyver missed the sky-gazing nights of his youth. Lying on the grass in Mission City, his best friend and fellow comrade beside him. They loved to spout off star names and constellations, Mac’s grandfather peppering in knowledge tidbits from a weathered chair on the deck.

There were also nights awash in the moon’s glow, both boys sitting in the treehouse handcrafted by them. Murmuring physics and chemistry terms, preparing for the next best science project.

Those had been simpler days - before international terrorists, crime syndicates, espionage, and bombs. Many days were spent out of the country, facing weapons, homegrown terrorists and criminals, and crafting solutions for the strangest problems. Mac had long faced his mortality on the daily.

Running was his drug. An activity that relieved stress and gave clarity to the multitude of problems swirling around a too-active brain. A way to feel good about himself and his too-lean body. Jack would say he ran _too much_ ; need more meat on his bones. That was Jack for you.

The crest of the hill appeared, and Mac lightly jogged to a pause. He leaned over his legs, hands resting flat on sweating thighs clothed in spandex shorts. Los Angeles was buzzing that Thursday night, the usual noises of the city wafting on the breeze. Eyes closed briefly, letting the sounds wash over him. Ambulances, cop cars, honks, screeches, cat meows, yells from every corner - it was home. 

_Okay, time to return home_.

He had already run five miles - now minutes from Jack’s place. But home called. A shower, a beer, and whatever leftovers - all while sitting by the fire on the deck. Mac smiled, ready to get in on _that_ action.

A tree branch cracked behind him - not a soul around earlier with legs pumping up the hill. Mac slowly turned, on alert.

It wasn’t fast enough.

A heavy body slammed into him, knocking his figure to the rough dirt. A strange hand grabbed frazzled, slick hair, yanking to keep Mac docile. Mac tried to kick out, but -

Caught off guard as a sharp blade made itself in his left side, a grunt pulled from his gasping breath. Even more desperate to fight off the attacker, Mac threw a punch with his right hand, connecting with a masked face. He managed to startle the wandering hand digging into his pants pockets. _Mugging, great_.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. The wandering hands disappeared, grip slackened from Mac’s hair, the knife -

_No, no, no!_

Warm liquid was flowing from the spot said knife _had_ been. Pulled out upon running, the attacker had stabbed the victim and left a gaping hole. Mac pressed a shaking left hand hard against the wound, breathing short and gasping between pain, anger, and horror.

 _Shit, shit - need help_.

Mac scrambled to his feet, nausea rolling as the blood spilled faster. _Blood loss - no real bandage. Home too far away. Cell phone -_ A muttered curse slipped from dry lips, Mac’s right hand coming up empty for anything useful - no phone, keys, or driver’s license. He had been uselessly mugged - he hadn’t been carrying any money!

Blood dripped to the ground past red-covered fingers. _Only one place to go_. Mac started a staggering stumble down the path, vision already blurring in pain and the beginning of rapid blood loss.

* * *

All Jack Dalton had asked for was twenty-four hours of uninterrupted rest. Whether that meant he actually slept was no one’s damn business. Twenty-four hours of hiding away in his condo, watching a Die Hard marathon, and snoring on the couch. Matty couldn’t contact him unless the zombie-apocalypse were actually happening, and Mac needed the same twenty-four hours to decompress on his own. Jack knew how important it was for Mac to get time alone, to figure things out without distractions. Granted, those distractions could be for the best when it came to Mac’s head and how far he got lost in it, but Jack knew that he would check up on his boy once they’d both had sufficient time to relax.

Jack also knew that relaxation to Mac was fiddling with the motorbike in the living room, running fucking marathons in the back hills of Los Angeles, and working on complex science projects. None of which had to be physically at his house, let alone the Phoenix Foundation lab. Jack didn’t understand his boy sometimes, but they worked it out when connections had to be made. Mac dumbed down his explanations and Jack played up his understandings. 

The third Die Hard movie was on low in the background as Jack grabbed a third beer from the fridge, a yawn slowly escaping his lips. He should get back to bed for a while, but he didn’t mind the recliner and the soft words of Bruce Willis cussing out a few bad guys. 

Closed eyes flew open at the quietest sound from the front door. Jack raised a concerned eyebrow, wondering if Jacob had let the drone loose in the hallway again. _Neighbors_.

Jack didn’t respond, settling back into the recliner.

The sound was a little louder this time, a cross between a moan and a garbled word. Jack stood up, eyebrows furrowed in worry and curiosity. _Now, who is crying_? 

Not bothering to grab his gun or pants, Jack lazied to the front door, sighing as he unlocked the bolt and dragged the knob towards him.

Tiny red droplets of congealing blood are the very first thing Jack notices. His heart stutters, breath caught in unwilling lungs. Familiar running shoes, drenched in dark red blood, wobble, a shaky right hand barely hanging onto the door frame.

Jack pales as he takes in his best friend. Ripped favorite running shirt, MIT written in bold black letters now stained with blood, sweat, and literal tears; blood running out over long pale fingers struggling to keep pressure on a gaping wound mid-left chest. Translucent skin, so ghost-like, no color to usual vibrant cheeks. Dull blue eyes staring far past Jack’s form. A speckle of blood on the edge of a murmuring lip.

“M-m-m-mom?” So quiet, so _not_ Mac-like. 

Jack is too slow to reach out, ask what the _hell_ happened before the invisible strings holding Mac upright are cut. Pristine blue eyes roll back, and the usual strong body of one Angus MacGyver crumples to the ground weightless. 

“ _MAC!”_

All the neighbors on the floor, home for the evening, scatter from their units. They find Jack holding pressure on Mac’s side with the only nearby cloth - Jack’s shirt. He doesn’t care if he’s seen wearing only boxers - Mac is _bleeding_ out in the hallway! 

One neighbor calls 911 while another grabs Jack a shirt and pants. Jacob, pulled from sleep at Jack’s scream even though it’s a school night, sits on the ground cross-legged. He’s pillowed Mac’s limp head in his lap, gentle fingers running through blond strands.

Jack’s intense pressure on the wound makes the blond kid whimper and flinch. Mac’s lips move, uncoordinated but determined, soft soft mumbles of “mom, mom…” barely reaching Jack’s ears.

Waiting on emergency personnel feels like decades, Jack almost hyperventilating at the grotesque sight of his boy. Blood is everywhere - no bit of clothing or skin untouched, even the blond, sweaty strands Jacob continues to card through, quiet murmurings of affection and hope. So, so pale. 

It is in those quiet moments that Jack recognizes the impending emergency. As if a stab wound and massive blood loss weren’t already an emergency - Mac’s chest is rapidly moving with pained breaths, the left side unwilling to inflate. _Shit, shit, collapsed lung!_ There is no doubt in Jack’s mind that Mac is going to crash if help doesn’t arrive _now_.

As if on cue, two EMTs slide to their knees beside Mac’s form, heavy bags of monitors and supplies easily ripped into and fancy wires and lights coming from every angle. A hand, guided by a strong voice, tells Jack to move his hand - and now very blood-soaked shirt - on the count of three. The action is so fluid like they have been practicing for years. 

Jack cradles the shirt in his hands, eyes glued to the second EMT. They have a stethoscope in use, worry lines etched onto a usually smooth and vibrant face. 

“No air movement on the left. Laceration depth likely punctured the lung, may have nicked the heart. Irregular heartbeat detected, monitor still trying to determine. Blood pressure 86 over 44. Presumed massive blood loss. Get ready to anchor and move in three.”

It was like watching everything in slow motion. Jacob scooted out of the way as Mac was quickly and efficiently log-rolled onto a stretcher board. Restraints across the chest, thighs, and ankles were applied to keep him steady on the trip to a nearby hospital, a thick bandage held in place over the wound with medical-grade tape as both EMTs lifted and started a fast, hurried walk out to the waiting ambulance.

Jack needed to follow - _Mac!_ \- His brain fumbling over actions necessary to propel his body forward and keep up with the medical team. In any other situation, Jack would have been a sounding board for Mac, cool calm and collected. Today, all sense had fled at the sight of _so much blood_ , some still slick along the hallway floor. 

A hand rested on his shoulder, big brown eyes moving rapidly, body tensing, and flinching at the contact. Rachel, Jacob’s mom, had a sympathetic sad smile on her face, his phone and a new set of clothes in her grasp. Jack just nodded, understanding. He was still basically naked in the hallway, covered in blood - _Mac’s blood_. 

“They are headed to Cedars-Sinai. I can drive you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "if a fictional character gets stabbed, they have only 2 valid response options: (option 1, option 2) - Option 3: turn up at a friend's house in the middle of the night, wake them up to them standing in their doorway while clutching their side and having just enough strength to say 'hey' before collapsing from blood loss"
> 
> I obviously took liberties, but the essence is there. Stay tuned for chapter 2...
> 
> All comments, kudos, bookmarks, recs, hits, screams, and everything in between are so never expected but are truly appreciated!!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissues at the ready...

Matilda Webber walked quickly up the front drive of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles, California. Typically, she would have requested any of her agents be sent to Phoenix Medical on the double, but considering she was not called by Jack Dalton but a neighbor who identified herself as Rachel - something terrible had gone wrong. 

Lips held in a thin line, she made no contact with any patron wandering the sidewalk at such a late time of night. Emergent business with a team in South Africa stalled her immediate arrival to the hospital, even though the call had come two hours before. Now, she glided through the front sliding doors and weaved herself through halls and halls of offices and dim lights. Thick brown hair awash in fluorescent lighting, a million thoughts running through her mind all at once. 

_What the hell happened? Who attacked my agent in broad daylight? Murdoc would have made himself known. El Noche - is a possible lead. Must look into that when I have time. Someone will pay for this. Now just to know what sort of state Baby Einstein is currently in..._

Her feet carried her to a small waiting room off the secure surgical wing - usually used for high-security prisoners and important officials. Only the best protection for her agents when they were _not_ at Phoenix Medical.

Two figures were immediately recognizable sitting in the less-than-ideal teal grey hospital chairs - a disheveled Jack Dalton and a stoic Wilt Bozer. Jack didn't have the strength or the voice to call Matty, let alone Bozer, so she had dialed Mac’s roommate at the earliest after learning of her agents’ status. Which was no status at all, considering Angus MacGyver had been whisked away via stretcher to an unauthorized hospital in severely critical condition. At least, that was the report from the third figure sitting beside Jack. 

The third figure, brunette hair pulled into a tight bun, stood, holding out a hand. “Matty, I presume.”

The short-statured woman gave a curt nod, shaking the offered hand. “Rachel, who I talked to on the phone.”

Rachel was biting her lower lip, brow furrowed in concern. “I tried to get him to shower - he insisted he chase after the ambulance. That’s all he has said since - then.” A quick glance back at Jack, sitting ramrod straight in the chair, eyes clouded over with pain and misery. She shook her head, sighing. “Mr. Bozer came shortly after we arrived. No one has given us any concrete updates.”

Knowing how Baby Einstein was fairing was at the top of everyone’s to-do list at that moment. Hunting down a nurse or a surgeon would be another deal entirely with the locked wing behind them. Matilda silently cursed herself. It was likely Mac had been rolled into emergency surgery before Bozer arrived, even though Mac had no way of consenting, and Bozer was Mac’s Power of Attorney in cases like these. Which should never have happened in the first place. 

_We will get to the bottom of this. First, - manage my agents_.

Matty thanked Rachel for her assistance and vigil, releasing her to head home to her son. Eyes focused solely on Jack, small padded footsteps crossing faded linoleum tile. 

Blood-stained hands rested on ill-fitting jeans, fingers curled in half fists. Gaze on the floor, no recognition of the newcomer as she stepped within his line of sight. At a distance, no one would have known Jack Dalton was silently mumbling. Close up, his lips moved almost imperceptibly, voice mute in whatever mantra or prayer he was offering up. The words were strictly between him and his god. 

Bozer acknowledged the arrival of his boss but said nothing. Everything he had heard about Mac’s condition pre-hospital had been second-hand, and Jack had offered up nothing since the younger black man had slowly sat in the chair next to the aging Delta. Being kept in the dark about his roommate was tough to swallow - everyone knew everything when any of them were inpatient at Phoenix Medical. Being at a foreign hospital with little information on the progress of Mac’s care - even knowing if Mac was still _alive_ \- was straining wrung-out nerves. Bozer wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait to know the fate of his best friend.

She gave Jack another look, noting that the shirt so hastily acquired was on backward, one sock missing from a barely covered foot, and the blood that was on his hands was just about everywhere else too. 

_MacGyver’s blood._

“Jack.”

No response. 

_Unusual_.

“Jack.” More forceful, more commanding.

Brown eyes met hers, but that was the only movement that told her he was hearing her.

“I need you to shower. Change clothes. Pull yourself together. For Mac. He will need you once we know more about his condition.”

Continued silence.

“Jack.”

Broken. Like Jack had swallowed glass shards before gathering the courage to finally speak up. Utterly broken and defeated.

“He - he was calling out for his mom.”

Bozer, no longer able to keep up the stoic act, wilted in his seat, a pained cry escaping. Knowing so little of what had happened to Mac was eating him from the inside out. Hearing Jack mention Mac’s mom - the situation had been absolutely _dire_.

Voice stronger, Jack released the words sitting on his heart. “He was hallucinating. I don’t - he probably didn’t make it.”

Defeatism was _not_ a word in Team Improvise’s vocabulary. But she heard it in Jack’s voice - the pain and the sorrow accompanying an unknown future, one that was likely to be absent of Angus MacGyver. She needed to know her agent’s status, and she needed to know it _now_.

“Jack. Get up, get showered, and get ready. I’m going to hunt down someone who knows what is going on. MacGyver will not die this day, mark my words.”

* * *

_Sun shines through the light blue curtained window. A poster of the periodic table on the wall above the desk. The black knitted quilt smoothed over Toy Story sheets. A Buzz Lightyear lamp, a thoughtful gift from a cousin or someone like that, turned off during daylight hours. Light brown fuzzy carpet, speckled with one chemistry set, and two unique toy cars. Three bookcases filled with children’s books of all subjects, fiction, and nonfiction. Between mom and dad, Angus had fallen in love with books, science, and Buzz Lightyear. Toy Story had yet to even release in theaters, and the world was in love._

_Adult Mac slowly circled the room, remembering - the good, the bad, and everything in-between. Fall had settled in Mission City, the leaves turning red, yellow, and brown so quickly. October was halfway through. The lone Buzz Lightyear costume hung up behind the closed door. There would be no wearing it that year - or any year to come. Lovingly hand sewn by a mother who went into the hospital sick - never to return home._

_Sadness settled into Mac’s chest. He hadn’t thought of the days just after his mother’s death in quite some time. It had been a very distressing time. Not knowing where mom had gone, why she wasn’t coming home, why daddy was so sad. Grandfather had tried to distract little Angus, taking him camping and to the ice cream parlor in downtown Mission City. But no matter the questions Angus had asked, no one told him momma was coming back. She was gone._

_A smile played on his lips, remembering her brilliant smile, glowing face, and coaxing voice urging him to take the first step, say the first word, and give that first kiss. Auburn hair, blue eyes that matched his own, and the gentlest of voices._

_He let out a breath, eyes taking in the room once more. Adult Mac grasped the doorknob, letting the memories wash over him. It was time to go - from this place, from this room, from this memory. Where it would lead, he did not know._

_The door opened at his beckoning. A familiar, smiling face greeted him._

“Oh, Angus.”

_Mom_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments, kudos, bookmarks, recs, screams, tears, hits, etc are never expected but truly appreciated! Tears are an author's drug... oh, I said that out loud!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, the response to this fic has BLOWN ME AWAY! I hope I don't disappoint...

The room was quiet - too quiet. No voices or background noise, just the many machines signaling that Mac was, for the moment, alive. Ambient lighting under cover of darkness in the pre-dawn morning giving the room a delicate glow. It had been a _very_ long night. Bozer swore days had passed before Angus MacGyver was finally transferred from the surgical suite to a waiting ICU room on the third floor.

Bozer let out a held breath, hoping not to wake a sleeping Riley Davis. Her head was pillowed on his lap, soft breathing whispering against a newer red and black t-shirt. They were slumped on the couch, the recliner occupied by Jack at the bedside.

As soon as Matty had stomped off to obtain answers, Riley had burst into the waiting room, eyes wide in fear, face red with recent tear stains. Jack barely registered her presence, his own gaze glaring at the blood on his hands. Bozer relayed what info he knew, but it had all begun to sound like a bad game of telephone. The waiting had been excruciating. 

When Matty finally returned with a nurse who knew what was going on, the shock of Mac’s condition was brutal. Mac had suffered a collapsed lung, a hemothorax from massive internal hemorrhaging from the apparent stab wound, and hypovolemic shock that sent his heart into a lethal rhythm. In so many words, Mac had coded on the way to the hospital. His heart was restarted, but concern for neurological deficits couldn’t be ruled out.

At the time of the actual update, surgery was ongoing to repair the lung and surrounding blood vessels. Mac had been given a rapid infusion of blood, saline, electrolytes, and vasopressors to help stabilize his blood pressure and heart rate. It was a relief his heart restarted - even if the long-term effects were still unknown.

Three forty-five in the morning, long after Jack finally showered and everyone drank a round of piss-poor hospital coffee, the small rag-tag family were ushered into a chaotic room on the third floor. Large sliding glass doors, a gigantic fully-equipped hospital bed, and more machines than any of them could count on both hands. 

Three nurses and a medical resident fiddled with the machines and contraptions surrounding the too-large bed that held one pale Angus MacGyver. He was intubated, with a chest tube winding out the left side of the bed and seven IV lines dripping different colored fluids. There were murmurs of post-arrest coma as the staff worked to initiate a protocol called targeted temperature management. A way to hopefully preserve brain function after a cardiac arrest - considering Mac’s condition upon emergent admit to the hospital.

The targeted temperature management - post-cardiac arrest hypothermia protocol - would last twenty-four hours before the medical staff rewarmed him and gently pulled back on the sedation. At that time, they would further assess Mac’s neurological status. Bozer believed the protocol was a solid call by the medical team due to the hallucinations Mac had been experiencing before collapsing at Jack’s condo. First massive blood loss, then the abrupt cessation of the most critical organ in the body? No wonder everyone was worried.

No one knew what had happened. Mac just showed up unexpectedly at Jack’s door, bleeding and hallucinating. No answers could be obtained until Mac woke up. _If_ he woke up. There was no guarantee that once the sedation was stopped that Mac would wake up and remember. Too far in the future to worry - so said the nursing staff. Take it one hour at a time, one moment at a time. Only time would allow for actual answers.

Bozer swallowed hard, hating to see his brother in another hospital bed, intubated and hovering between life and death. 

_He went for a run. Did Murdoc attack him? Some other bad guy we weren’t watching closely enough? Mac - bud, we need you._

The recliner shifted as Jack tried to get into a more comfortable position. He was flush against the bed rail, one arm resting on the edge, chin settled on a curled fist. His right arm wove through the side rail, grasp loosely clinging to Mac’s cold fingers. They had dropped Mac’s core temperature to 35 degrees celsius (95 degrees Fahrenheit), hoping his most valuable organ - the brain - would survive to live another day. 

The silence from Mac’s form was maddening. _I need your voice, Mac. I need you to come back to me. Please, don’t leave me_. The vitals machine beeped, the cooling blanket wooshed along, and the ventilator clicked, keeping a steady beat inhaling and exhaling for Mac. 

Silence was rarely Jack’s nature. But his partner and brother had been critically injured. By who? Why? Where? When? What had driven Mac to come to Jack’s place, just in time to collapse? No call, no warning. So much blood loss, Mac hadn’t even been coherent when he got to Jack’s door. Mac had enough wits about him to come to Jack, but not long enough to explain what had happened.

It was eating Jack up from the inside. His boy could die. Collapsed lung, hypovolemic shock, and a subsequent cardiac arrest. A possible coma. The list of complications was long and distressing; Jack couldn’t lose Mac. He _couldn’t_.

The nursing staff completed shift change at the bedside, signaling to Jack that he was gonna need more coffee as the day longed before them. Holding vigil was the obvious answer, even if there would be little change in Mac’s condition for at least twenty-four hours. A lifetime ago, Jack had made the promise never to leave Mac alone in a hospital bed, regardless if he was awake or not. 

Riley yawned as she awoke, the trio all standing simultaneously to stretch. They silently acknowledged the day, even though none of them had any ambition to leave. Bozer eventually settled into the recliner, shooing Jack and Riley out of the room to grab food and more coffee. They agreed to bring some back for the younger spy.

The elevator ride down to the first floor was silent. The two still did not speak in the cafeteria, moving towards the back to munch on cereal and bacon. Quick and unsatisfying, but necessary nutrients. 

Riley finally broke the tension. “Jack, it isn’t your fault.”

He grunted, a spoonful of cheerios disappearing into a frowning mouth. Chewing took a moment before his low voice filled the emptiness.

“I was too late. He just - he collapsed in front of me. I - I don’t know what happened. I - I don’t - understand. He should have called. Why didn’t he - call?”

Riley gave her surrogate father a perplexed look. “Call? He didn’t call? Did he have his phone on him?”

Jack shrugged, the spoon forgot in the sad bowl of cereal. “It was all a blur. I assume his personal belongings are somewhere in the room… right?” Come to think of it, Jack hadn’t seen any of Mac’s personal belongings. No keys, no phone, no wallet. _Shit_.

They finished eating in record time, Jack left carrying the to-go cereal, two containers of milk, and a large hot coffee as Riley raced ahead to reach her rig. It went everywhere with her - she was never caught off guard when the need for a computer, secure encrypted internet access, and pertinent information were vital to the cause. Today was no different.

They had barely been gone twenty minutes before the duo were back in the room, Bozer giving them a frown at their rapid return. He didn’t complain as Jack handed over the sad breakfast, Riley’s fingers quickly typing in complex code only she understood.

“What has gotten into both of you?” Bozer groused, shaking his head at their uncoordinated actions. Jack was pacing as Riley furiously typed. But wait - Jack wasn’t pacing, he was prowling.

A frustrated sigh escaped the Delta’s rigid form. “Nothing. He - he had nothing on him, how the hell did that happen?!”

She slammed the enter button, eyes darting across lines of code on her computer screen. “Location - unknown. The damn thing must be off.” Riley wanted to punch something. 

Around a mouth full of cereal, Bozer managed to ask them what they were talking about.

“Do you see any of Mac’s personal items around? He never called me. He never called anyone. His phone, his wallet, his keys - all the items vanished into thin air!”

Bozer did a slow glance around the room. The bedside table was empty. The mini closet had never been touched. As Power of Attorney, Bozer should have been given whatever Mac had come in with, including clothes, shoes, phone, wallet, keys, whatever was on him at the time of surgery. The circulating surgical nurse had already confirmed that all of Mac’s clothes had been a loss - including the shoes. Getting blood out of good running shoes was almost impossible - unless you were MacGyver. But they had the money to buy the kid a new pair once he was back to running - whenever that day came. 

_I never got his keys. Or his wallet. Definitely not his phone_...

“I can’t get a location on his phone. Whoever took it turned it off or let it die. I can’t fucking find it.”

Jack rubbed a hand down an exhausted face, growling. “Keep tracking it, Riles. If they decide to turn it on for some reason, we will know the instant it happens.”

She had already configured an app on her phone to alert her to any activity from Angus MacGyver’s smartphone. Even if she were sleeping or in the shower, she would know the moment Mac’s phone turned on.

Appetite lost, Bozer set the still-full cereal bowl on the bedside table, gaze tracking Mac from head to toe. Something had happened. Something like -

“He always leaves for a run with his phone, keys, and license. Whoever stabbed him - robbed him.”

Now Jack was pacing, hands curled into fists. “Robbed. Fuck. I should have guessed that. But who? Why? And where did it happen?! Obviously, the mugging didn’t attract anyone else - it was dusk, somewhere between my place and the house, and not a word has been said about a pool of blood or a blood trail for that matter!”

Fingers flying over the keys once again, Riley did a quick local news and police bulletin search, keying in the words _robbery_ , _mugging_ , and _blood_. Nothing came up. Jack was right, no one had said anything. 

“I think I can answer that,” Bozer whispered, right hand silently brushing hair out of Mac’s quiet face, mindful of the ventilator protruding from a still mouth. “Mac’s been changing up the routes he takes for runs ever since Murdoc kidnapped him. Not just the routes, but the length of the run and at what time of day. He only told me.”

Riley toggled a map of Los Angeles, putting up a window of directions from Mac’s address to Jack’s condo. Add in a ten-mile radius for Mac’s distance running, she came up with a vast margin of area that possibly held the secrets to their questions. They couldn’t hold vigil and search at the same time - _Matty_.

“Matty needs to know about this. She’ll want to find out who, why, and where just as badly as we will.”

Contacting the boss took no time, Riley giving Director Webber a hasty run-down of what they knew already and what still needed to be answered. Not even ten minutes later, Matilda Webber had a ten-man team assembled and en route to search the entire area Riley had messaged to the War Room. If nothing came of their search, then it was back to square one. But if they found something - it was one step closer to finding the bastard who committed this atrocity.

* * *

_They laughed about some silly memory that Adult Mac didn’t really remember, and his mom believed was only yesterday._

_How time had passed for them, respectively. Mom, forever remembered in a childlike form due to Mac’s young age when he lost her. Mac, now an adult and on his own, living without a father or his grandfather, but making the best by being close to Bozer, Jack, Riley, Matty, Jill - he had found a family with his small group, and that didn’t bother him the least._

_Even though Mac was on the hunt for a father, who was evading discovery. Frustration amidst the search, but more important things always came up. Like his job. Saving the world. All the things the Phoenix Foundation did._

_The kitchen table was the same as the last time Mac had seen his mother, smiling over his latest science project concept. Covered in a forest green tablecloth, the round solid wood oak table was heaped with letters, papers, and some leftover powders from a chemistry set that was scattered on Mac’s bedroom floor. Five dining room chairs, all different shapes, and sizes, refurbished by the loving hands of his mother when she wasn’t busy teaching eighth-graders at the local junior high._

_There was a lot of flair throughout Mac’s childhood home, courtesy of a graceful but eccentric mother who loved every color and shape in the history of the_ world _. It was no wonder Mac had been named Angus. It was unique, insane, but so very much his mother._

_He missed her._

_She had that wild smile on, eyes glowing. “You were my bright boy, Angus. I loved you - I still do love you.”_

_Adult Mac gripped her hand, squeezing in love. “I love you too, mom.”_

_Her face grew serious as the colors of Mac’s childhood house started to fade - like a memory. His mother didn’t change, but the rest of the scenery seemed to flicker and disappear, leaving only them, sitting in hollow spaces, somewhere._

_Her voice was soft but challenging. “Why are you here, Angus?”_

_He didn’t know. What had happened to him that he was dreaming of his mother? Was he dead? Or was this - something else?_

_A pain in his left side, a crippling headache that brought him to his knees, hands shaking as the world flipped and flopped. And then she to - the one he missed most desperately - dimmed and disappeared into the black._

_Oh, Mom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: this is set sometime in season 2, after Cage, but before the finale. I can’t really place it anywhere definitively, but I just wanted to not have to deal with Daddy, lol. 
> 
> It snowed about a foot outside. Welcome to Colorado, it'll be melted by Thanksgiving! Perfect writing weather - and baking weather, pumpkin muffins and rolls for work Thanksgiving...
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for all the comments, kudos, hits, reads, bookmarks, recs, screams, and love - it is never expected, but truly and most wonderfully appreciated!!!! Love, Danielle


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the medical team initiated the rewarming protocol on Mac early the next morning, the ten-man team Matilda Webber had sent out into Los Angeles had only managed to search and secure half of the area Riley had pinpointed. It was slow going, with any lead pulling them off the beaten track to investigate and sound off if they were any closer to finding where Mac had been stabbed. 

They didn’t know what they were really looking for, other than blood - lots and lots of blood. How no one had called in such a find to local law enforcement was mind-boggling, and Riley honestly believed the mugging had been intentional - premeditated for the most opportune place. If only they knew where that spot was – if only technology wasn’t failing the search.

After being kept at a cold temperature of 35 degrees Celsius for twenty-four hours, the medical team began the slow process of rewarming Angus MacGyver to 37 degrees Celsius. It would take at least four hours, if not longer, as gradual rewarming was paramount to protecting multiple body systems. Electrolytes and fluids shifted with the change in temperature, blood pressure changes occurred, and sedation levels had to be on point to keep Mac from waking up. Once they successfully achieved 37 degrees Celsius, they would wait at least twelve hours before attempting any neurological testing. At that point, the head neurologist would decide if and when it would be safe to pull back on the sedation medications to see if Mac would awake neurologically sound. All care ultimately revolved around the intensivist’s assessment of Mac’s cardiac function and progress related to resolving the hemothorax and healing the lung. 

It was a lot of hoping and praying. Riley, Jack, and Bozer all took turns at the bedside, keeping up a steady stream of one-sided conversation - sometimes they talked about current events, sometimes they read one of Mac’s favorite books, or sometimes they were silent, eyes watching the nurses and medical staff keep Mac living and breathing another day.

The hunt for Mac’s phone continued to turn up empty. Whoever had stolen it had yet to turn it on - if they weren’t going to use it, then why take it? Could the phone be in the trash somewhere, destroyed? The possibility had certainly crossed Riley’s mind more than once. If she got ahold of the phone, she could quickly determine where Mac had been when he’d been stabbed. It would have been immensely helpful for the search team; if they came up empty-handed at the end of the grid search, they would need a solid lead.

The waiting was the hardest. Waiting for answers, waiting for hours to pass so that they could determine Mac’s functional status, waiting for someone to be held responsible for almost killing the brightest mind in the entire intelligence community in the United States and across the world. Mac wasn’t out of the woods yet, but Riley had every hope that he would pull through. His lung would heal, and his brain would be the same fast-paced processor as before. But they didn’t know; the uncertainty of it all made her stomach turn with unease. 

Early afternoon crept up on the group, their time spent holding vigil in the hospital reaching the thirty-six-hour mark. Mac was back at a normal human temperature, the heavy blankets, and core temperature probe gone for about four hours. Vitals were stable, lung reinflation, and fluid drainage through the left chest tube progressing smoothly. The medical team was optimistic about Mac’s full recovery.

Riley was sound asleep on the couch, body curled into a small ball, her tech in sleep mode at her head. Jack sat in the recliner by the bed, head pillowed on both arms resting on the side rail, breathing soft and steady. Bozer was the only one awake, finger aimlessly scrolling a news website. The nursing staff had obtained a cot, shoving it near the unused closet, where Bozer now lounged.

An incessant shrill beep startled all sleeping bodies. Riley was alert in less than a second, body upright and tech in her lap as nimble fingers quickly silenced the atrocious noise. 

Jack yawned, stretching in place by the bed. “I didn’t ask for a wake-up call.”

Bozer snickered as he set his phone back into sleep mode, eyes tracking Riley’s fingers. _Something is up…_

Riley slammed a hand against the keyboard, and giddily laughed. “Mac’s phone turned on!”

Long legs crossed the room in two strides, muscular hands gripping slightly shaking shoulders. “Say that again, Ri.”

Her eyes were shining from unshed tears, a grin on her face. She met her surrogate father’s eyes. “Someone - they turned on Mac’s phone.”

It wasn’t a perfect lead, but it was a _lead_ , and Jack would take it. He felt an uptick in his heart rate, and the adrenalin starting to surge through his blood. “Where?”

A quick scan of the map that was triangulating the signal and Riley had an answer. “Corner of Rosewood Avenue and North Mariposa Avenue.”

Jack grabbed his jacket from the recliner, pausing long enough to give a loving squeeze to Mac’s right ankle. “Be right back, hoss. Gotta catch your attacker.”

Bozer jumped up from the cot, eyebrows knitted together in profound question. “You can’t be serious. Get Matty involved!” He chased after the man, who was steps ahead of the younger man.

The burley Delta set a pace for the elevators, feet quick along the tiled floor. “No time, Boze. Keep up with the team. I’ll be on coms.” And he was gone.

Bozer swore under his breath, eyes and stance turning angry. “Damn it, Jack!” 

He sulked back to the room, flinging the curtain back and slumping onto the couch beside a narrowly focused Riley. Her head was buried in the laptop, a barely-hidden com already in her left ear. Bozer knew he should get his out, but he wanted to sulk a second longer. Jack could get hurt going off on his own. Was the man capable of watching himself? Sure. But this attacker was calculated. If the Delta ran without anyone watching his six, they could lose both partners. Mac would never forgive himself for putting Jack in danger. 

With Riley occupied, Bozer decided to take up residence beside the bed, his body sighing into the recliner. A nurse slipped into the room to fiddle with a machine, eyes glancing at the chest tube and ventilator settings. They still had a few hours before the medical staff even took steps to determine Mac’s neurological status, let alone start walking him up from the sedation. And the phone turning on - hopefully, they got a lead from it, some sort of progress.

He gave his best friend’s hand a squeeze. “We got ya, Mac. You just rest and heal.”

* * *

_Despite the blazing sun and blowing sand, Mac was cold. Frigidly cold. He stood at the rail on a research ship, looking down at the jagged edges of Arctic snow mixing with the dusty sand of the Sandbox._

_His mind was confused - was he in Afghanistan? Or was he in the Northern Arctic Ocean? He had never been to the Arctic Ocean - at least, not physically._

_Piercing pain in his left side and Mac sank to his knees, one hand gripping the top bar of the railing._ What happened? Where - where did Mom go?

_Laughter behind him, mixing voices of familiarity - anguish but joy all the same. As the pain subsided, Mac slowly stood and turned, gaze looking up towards the ship’s bridge. Two familiar faces waved at him, beckoning him to join them._

_The cold disappeared as Mac walked towards the bridge, his fingers nimble on the ladder he soon was climbing._

_She was smiling, holding out a hand. “MacGyver!”_

_He had never gotten to - to see her beyond a video screen. She had sacrificed herself for her students - a sacrifice Mac had desperately tried to prevent. There should have been another solution, anything but watching her die. Zoe Kimura didn’t look much different than that day - messy hair, red cheeks, and a glowing smile._

_Mac finished his climb up the ladder to promptly wrap Zoe in a hug. “Zoe,” he breathed, soaking her in. She was just as he had imagined - smelling of the sea and a hint of lavender. He released the hug, holding her at arm’s length. “Oh, Zoe.”_

_A tap on his shoulder and Mac turned, standing face-to-face with his mentor and friend - Alfred Pena._

_“Al. I -”_

_Pena gave Mac a nod, a grin on his face, hands reaching out to grip Mac by the shoulders and squeezing tonight. They didn’t have to exchange words - Mac already knew what he would say_. Not your fault. 

_Oh, how Mac missed them. Losing Pena in the Sandbox, not knowing about Annabelle until much later - everything about that damn mission had been a disaster. And Pena had paid the price. Zoe - they should never have lost her to the frigid waters of the Arctic. But Mac had stayed by her side until the very end, even when it had hurt to the depths of Mac’s soul. Seeing them again - Mac felt the tears prickle at the edge of his eyes._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Pena gave Mac a look of sadness, Zoe blowing him a kiss._

_He wondered -_ Will I join them? Is this it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man how I struggled with this chapter. So, if it seems terrible - well, it is, sooooo. But the story should move along nicely now that I've done my filler chapter. I have the rest plotted out and it is much more exciting, haha. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, even though it took me a while to write this chapter. I hope not to let you wait so long for the next chapter!
> 
> Any reads, comments, recs, bookmarks, kudos, et cetera are never expected but always so, so appreciated!!!! Love, Danielle


	5. Chapter 5

The phone had been abandoned. Jack had strung together enough expletives to make even Riley turn a deep shade of pink and red, Bozer and Matty berating the Delta over coms. While there was no _body_ attached to the phone, there was still evidence - a couple of fingerprints, a drop of blood, and the golden ticket - GPS tracking. 

Jack begrudgingly handed the phone off to the lab assistants at the Phoenix to process, their promise to get all the evidence and data collected in a couple of hours a hail mary. Evidence collection and analyzation was a delicate procedure, and rushing it would help no one - especially Mac. If there was hidden information to be found on the outside - or the inside - of the phone, it would be found. Jill, a tried and true analyst, with a side of science geekiness, took over commanding the lab assistants, her determination to find Mac’s attacker as strong as the rampaging Delta’s.

A heated discussion carried on through the coms as Riley and Bozer kept vigil at Mac’s bedside. Matty and Jack were arguing about the continued search for the crime scene - mostly the technique they were using to follow leads and check off areas. Matty was calm, cool, and collected. Jack - an angry bear who just needed one more poke to attack.

“Dalton, I have told you multiple times -”

“WE SHOULD HAVE ALREADY FOUND THE BLOOD, DIRECTOR!”

Bozer yanked the com from his ear, rubbing an eardrum that was aching from the noise. He turned to find Riley concentrated on some algorithm on her rig, eyes focused. She was entirely unphased by Jack’s outbursts. Typical Riley - in her zone, a narrow focus on the problem at hand. Boze admired her resolve - the waiting was _agonizing_.

The glass door slid open, two nurses walking into the room. 

“Mr. Bozer, Dr. Vermont would like to start neurologic testing. MRI would like to start in 30 minutes. We have some questions before we transport.”

Riley’s fingers paused over the keyboard. As Bozer agreed to the testing and confirmed Mac didn’t have any metal in his body - that any of them _knew_ of - Riley strategically slipped off the couch and out of the room, finger to her com.

“Jack, are you listening?”

The War Room had gone strangely silent after Jack’s outburst, but Riley knew the man was still on coms. He wouldn’t risk not knowing about Mac if he could help it.

A moment went by before Jack grunted, an angry retort at his lips. “What?” Was all he managed to get out.

She rolled her eyes. “They are taking Mac to MRI in thirty. You wanna be here?”

A scuffle and a slamming door heard over the coms. _Bathroom, then_. 

“On my way.”

* * *

“The MRI results look promising.”

Dr. Vermont smiled at the group, watching their reactions. Ms. Davis, her head nodding but posture rigid as she stood by Bozer. Mr. Bozer, sitting on the recliner, hands tightly clutching his best friend’s hand, eyes attentive and contemplating. Mr. Dalton, pacing the spacious hospital room, hands laced together behind his back. The doctor’s words didn’t have the usual effect - the relief was not apparent in any of the three bystanders.

“Until we can decrease the sedatives, we won’t know the true extent of neurological damage. The MRI showed good blood flow and no embolisms or aneurysms. We will perform an electroencephalogram within the next two hours and observe for an hour or two, depending on any immediate results. For the moment, Mr. MacGyver is stable.”

Jack huffed, hating the fact that they would be waiting even longer for definitive information on Mac’s condition. “What about his lung? Where is the pulmonologist?” 

The doctor took a measured breath, keeping the smile on his face. “I talked with Dr. Corbin before the MRI. The lung is doing well - it has regained shape and function. The wound is healing as expected. Drainage would have to be discussed with the nursing staff. For the condition Mr. MacGyver was in when he was brought in a few days ago, he is progressing well.”

Bozer thanked the neurologist, and the doctor disappeared, leaving the group to their stiff positions.

A buzz, a wail, and every phone in the room started ringing off the hook. Jack was the first to answer, _Matty the Hun_ glaring up at him from the black and white screen.

“Got you on speaker, boss.”

“Good. Since you were in such an uproar earlier, I rerouted the team, and the search has produced answers.”

Jack slowed his pace, gaze now focused directly on Mac’s quiet face. _Finally_. “And?”

“Riley, the phone data is being transmitted to your secure account as we speak. Get us a lead on the exact spot we believe Mac was attacked. They found a blood trail about a quarter of a mile from your condo, Dalton. It has blended in with the foliage, so it is slow going with a black light. Between the blood and Riley’s quick detective skills, we should have an exact crime scene within the hour.”

The computer hacker was already on her rig, buttons clicking and fingers slamming a worn but loved board of keys. 

“Got the data, Matty. Should have a location -” Something dinged and triangulated, and Riley gasped. “Got it.” 

Bozer didn’t even try to stop the Delta this time, watching as Jack ended the call, shoved a com into his right ear, and ran from the room without another word. No sense in delaying the inevitable - if Jack had anything to do with the capture of the asshole who tried to kill his best friend - there would be war.

* * *

There had been doubt - crippling doubt. Losing Mac was a recurring nightmare Jack had to contend with more than he cared to admit. But even this snag in the road of life wasn't the first clusterfuck the duo had walked through scathed - not by a long shot. That was the hallmark - they always came out the other end together. Maybe not unharmed or changed, but together and still breathing. 

The crime scene proved to be an open patch of brown grass amid a dense forest in the back hills of Los Angeles. Rarely frequented. The perfect cover for a run that Mac didn’t want anyone to duplicate. The ideal spot for a premeditated attack with no witnesses.

There was no video to analyze or retrieve images from to identify the attacker. An empty spot meant no surveillance and no way for Riley to use technology to their advantage. Even satellite footage wasn’t enough to get a clear picture. But it was the technology that led them to where Mac had been, where the stabbing and robbery had occurred. It gave the crime scene unit a clear understanding of the path Mac had painstakingly walked to reach Jack's condo. A whole fucking mile walking with an oozing wound dripping onto the dirt, grass, and pavement - and not one person noticed or stopped to help. Mac had instinctively followed training - maneuver self with no follow-up. Except for the small detail of blood - small, inconspicuous to the naked eye, a clue for the crime scene unit to finally gain concrete answers.

Jack was back to pacing, his feet making a worn track into the dirt at the edge of the crime scene tape. Two lab analysts were taking a black light to the entire area, another carefully picking through the grass for any evidence that could lead them to the attacker. 

They had already found a fiber fragment at the scene. It could mean anything.

They had so little leads to catch the attacker. The hope for a fingerprint that was in the system. The fiber fragment connecting someone to the time and place of the attack. Mac’s house keys had been lost in the wind - likely discarded at first chance. But Jack wouldn’t take the chance the attacker would return to Mac’s home - it was time to change all the locks, install a damn security system. 

_Now, if only Mac would wake up. We will find this bastard. I just hope we don’t lose Mac in the meantime._

* * *

_Mom… Zoe… Al…_

_Fatigue had settled into his bones. Mac sagged to the ground, sadness on his face. He didn’t want to leave them. But he knew they were gone - and he… he could join them, or he could return to the living. What he would find in the land of the living, Mac was unsure. As brilliant as he was, there was nothing concrete to hold onto in this world of mirages and dreams. There was no memory of what brought him to this place, nothing but piercing pain and homesickness of his family - Jack, Bozer, Riley, Matty, Jill… the Phoenix Foundation…_

_Mac closed his eyes, the dream world falling away as he gasped. MOM!!! ZOE!!! PENA!!!_

Legs, arms, torso - all felt like weights dragging him down, down, down… A gentle caress of his fingers, the top of his hands. Soothing voices with no real words. Odd sensations on his wrists, his ankles, his face, his neck. Rough fabric over exposed skin. Pain in his side, stabbing with movement, pain in his throat; he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t -

Something took a breath for him, and Mac slowly cracked open his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments, kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, screams, yells... okay, you get the gist; all are never expected but truly appreciated!!!!!
> 
> Probably one to two more chapters. Anyone who might be worried about Burn the Ships - gonna try for a new chapter very, very soon!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking forever to finish. Inspiration was lost when December got busy and then Star Wars took over my life. And I mean that literally... lol.

The laptop was abandoned the moment Bozer yelled for a nurse. Riley’s eyes shot to Mac’s face, and staring back at her were the bluest eyes she had ever seen. _Mac!!!_ She was at the bedside in seconds, a wide grin on her face.

“Hey, man. We - I - it’s so good to see you awake.” She grasped his right hand, caressing it to let him know she was there and wasn’t going anywhere. Bozer was back on Mac’s left, out of breath from yelling and running to call everyone who needed to know their boy was awake. 

Mac could only blink, the ventilator continuing to breathe for him even as he tried to take a spontaneous breath, his hands restrained to keep him from pulling at his lines and the tube protruding from his mouth. 

“The nurse and doctor will be in soon. They’ll determine when we can get you all patched up and out of here, okay?” Bozer was babbling, trying to keep from screaming in happiness. His best friend was _awake_. Finally, indeed, _awake!_

Mac had so many questions - who, what, where, _why_ \- but as Bozer slid his hand into Mac’s fingers, he decided to ask one question. He carefully tapped it out in morse code, knowing Bozer would understand - thanks to spy school, Bozer was a lot better with coded messages.

The black man nodded with each tap, concentrating on catching the message. After the tapping stopped, Mac’s brow furrowing at Bozer’s silence, the young man slowly shook his head.

“Aw, Mac. You wake up from a coma, and you ask me about your _clothes?!_ ”

Riley couldn’t help the ungraceful snort. _Clothes? What the_ -

The conversation halted almost immediately as Mac’s nurse and Dr. Vermont strode into the room, taking command of the unfounded scene before them. 

Two hours flew by with neurologic testing, more coded messages only Bozer could decode, and the promise for the endotracheal tube to be removed within the next twelve hours. The ventilator settings had been adjusted, allowing Mac to try breathing on his own with assistance. He complained about excruciating pain in his side - from the chest tube still draining a minimal amount of blood. Overall, his condition was vastly improved. The sedating drugs were stopped, the pain medication increased, and Mac was quick to answer in short phrases what he remembered from the attack. 

Bozer finally got to answer Mac’s initial question - _where did my MIT shirt go?_ The shirt had been one of Mac’s favorites since before joining the army and had made it so many years without a scratch. Bozer had terrible news for his roommate - that shirt had finally bit the dust. Between the rips and the blood, that shirt had died a grizzly death at the hands of medical personnel determined to save Angus MacGyver’s life. 

There had been a drawn-out sigh through the tube as Mac digested Bozer’s report. Somehow, the loss of that shirt was the worst news possible. Not the stabbing - not the lack of real information on who, what, where, and why this had all happened. No, losing a beloved and comfortable shirt was depressing as hell, and Mac was disappointed. 

It wasn’t a good enough distraction, though. When all was said and done, the doctors and nurses finally giving the trio space to breathe, Mac was quick to ask about Jack. He was the missing piece to the team that usually stayed vigil at his side in any medical situation. 

* * *

The phone call of Mac’s return to consciousness came at almost the same time Jill and her team got definitive answers to Jack Dalton. Torn between seeing his partner and hunting down an attempted murderer, Jack took the name of the suspect in his fist and swore he would bring the jerk in for questioning before seeing Mac again. Jack wanted to bring his partner the best news possible - catch of the wannabe killer. 

Jack didn’t play nice as he tore across Los Angeles in search of the now-identified male who had tried to kill Angus Jackson MacGyver. He ran every red light (within reason, of course), broke every speed limit, and narrowly missed hitting a handful of pigeons in his crazed journey to the address supplied by the Phoenix Foundation. 

The TAC team performed admirably, dismantling the home security in under a minute and sweeping the entire three-bedroom, three-bath home in two minutes. They found their suspect holed up in an office, casually cleaning a sports trophy. He put up no fight, letting the vested entourage cuff him and drag him off the premises. 

Jack would let the man cool off in a cell for a few days before questioning him. There was somewhere else the Delta had to be right then - in a hospital room, berating a little blond kid and then loving him even more fiercely. 

* * *

“You scared me, brother.”

The tube that had been irritating his trachea was finally gone. But Mac didn’t want to speak - not yet anyway. Plus, there was no need to speak when he could just stare and intimidate all who entered his hospital room. He blinked slowly at Jack’s remark, his mind conjuring up images of bright red blood splattered across the ground, Jack’s front door, and the bloodless face of his friend catching him in his arms. 

_I know_ , Mac eventually said via morse code, Jack’s hand a natural weight and comfort in Mac’s grasp. 

Riley and Bozer had finally kissed the patient goodnight and went home not long after midnight. Jack would keep watch - as he always did. Tales of the search for the crime scene and hunting down the suspect told long into the night, some laughter mixed with tears. Jack would eventually get to questioning the culprit, but Mac took priority as he slowly healed from a failed attack to put him six feet under. 

Mac took a deep breath, wincing as the chest tube stretched with his lung. It would hopefully be pulled the next morning if the drainage continued to be minimal. There was still some healing to be done in the hospital before Mac could go home and rest there - extra precautions, assuring he wouldn’t readmit to the hospital after such a catastrophic event. 

He let it out slowly, deciding it was finally time to discuss something with his partner - his brother.

“I - I saw my mom.” His voice was scratchy and rough, but it still came out - even if it was more of a whisper than anything else. “I thought - I was gonna stay with her. That this was the end.”

Jack shook his head, scooting the chair closer to the bed. “Brother, I would never let that happen. Visiting is - fine. But you don’t get to leave my side for a long time. We are in this fight together.”

Mac smiled, feeling sleepy. He gently closed his eyes, assured that Jack would be there when he woke up from a restful sleep. He was safe - as safe as a secret government agent could be when the world had a mark on his head.

* * *

Many questions were left unanswered. While the suspect they arrested confessed to the mugging and stabbing of one Angus MacGyver, the faceless male perpetrator had no idea who had paid him. If by luck, the attack had been random - but only as random as could be from someone being paid to attack Mac. There were no leads after that, no further communications or evidence pointing to the nameless villain who paid a stranger to attack a government agent in broad daylight. 

To say Jack didn’t break a few bones and then a few punching bags in the Phoenix gym that day would be an understatement. The buck stopped at a random guy _paid_ to attack Mac. No further leads. Nothing. 

And what if they tried again? It was a thought that kept Jack up at night, hand resting on his holster as he sat in the recliner in Mac’s living room, Mac safely tucked into the blankets on the couch. Mac was home and safe, even if he was in pain, and breathing sucked. But they would all heal, some physical wounds and some mental wounds, and they would continue to fight another day in the world of secret agents, homemade explosives, and fast-thinking solutions. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I truly apologize for taking forever. And that this isn't the best ending. I at least had notes on what I wanted to accomplish, and this is pretty close to that. I honestly just wanted to finish so I can move onto Burn the Ships and my Star Wars fic. And thanks to COVID-19, my second job won't restart until April (God willing) at the earliest, so I have more free time to write and decorate my house! 
> 
> I truly appreciate all the kudos, hits, comments, and bookmarks I have seen since I last posted. You guys gave me the drive to finish this up. I hope I didn't disappoint!!! Thank you so so so much!!! Love, Danielle


End file.
